Dream of Me/Believe in Me (83 page)

H
AWK SPOKE SO CASUALLY THAT HE
might have been discussing nothing more than the most minor inconvenience. But those who heard him thought differently. As one, they gasped and immediately began to mutter among themselves. Twenty lashes were no small matter even for the strongest among them. What manner of man would offer to take such punishment to spare a woman?

Krysta could not bear the thought of Hawk hurt and far preferred to bear the pain herself.

“No!” she cried out, struggling against the ropes.

Trying his damnedest to control anger so great that it threatened to overwhelm him, Hawk came very close to slamming his hand over her mouth. And why not when every time she opened it, she made things worse? First to the queen, now to the insufferable Udell. Was there no end to her impulsiveness? Or to the proud courage of her nature that forbade her to take the easy way out of any situation?

He couldn't let himself think like that. Indeed, it would be far better if he thought of nothing at all except
how to get her away from Udell and the Mercian crowd in the fastest, safest way possible. After that … He allowed himself a scant moment to consider what he would do once Krysta was beyond harm, then returned his attention to Udell.

“Surely you don't expect me to wait all day? Agree and let's be done.”

Udell sucked in his breath. Hawk watched impassively the struggle playing out on the Mercian's scowling features. He had already rejected the payment of wergild, even twice the normal amount. To go back now and try to take it would make him appear ridiculous, and that, above all, so vainglorious a braggart could not bear. In his rage, no doubt he had savored the thought of making Krysta suffer but without seeing the trap into which the Hawk had led him. Hawk was, by law, her master. He had, by law, the right to inflict punishment on her. But he also, by law, had the right to take such punishment on himself when she had transgressed against another. Such was never done yet the law supported it. Alfred's law. The very law Udell claimed to uphold.

“Well?” Hawk said. He looked faintly bored, as though he had better things to do and would get on with them as soon as this small annoyance was sorted out.

“Piss on you, Hawk of Essex!” Udell snarled. “You think I won't flog you because of who you are? You think you can make such an offer to me and I will be afraid to take it?”

Hawk let the insult go by with a mere shrug of his broad shoulders. He flicked a bit of dust from the sleeve of his tunic. “Whatever you're going to do, I wish you'd make up your mind.” He glanced over to the side as though just noticing the man who had arrived minutes before.

“My lord,” Hawk called to him, “will you confirm that I am within my rights? As I am unwilling to have my
property damaged but am willing to take the punishment upon myself, he must release her.”

There was a quick inhalation of breath as Alfred stepped into the circle of lords and ladies. The bolder among them dared to show frowns of disapproval yet they all gave way before him, falling back as rats do before the master catcher.

The king surveyed the scene with a thoughtful air. His gaze lingered a moment on Udell's mutilated cheek, then passed on. Calmly, he said, “The Lord of Essex has the right of it. The girl must be released.”

Even as he spoke, he gestured to the men-at-arms who just then came running around the corner of the stable. Their sergeant moved forward and with a quick nod of approval from Hawk, cut the ropes that held Krysta. Holding the back of her gown closed with one hand, she laid the other on Hawk's strong arm. Just then she needed contact with him more than anything else. He did not look at her but he did put his hand over hers, completely covering and protecting it.

“Well?” he asked again, raising an eyebrow at Udell.

The Mercian stared from Hawk to the king and from them both to the swiftly expanding circle of armed men gathering around them. Alfred's men some of them, but now pouring in from all sides the men of the Hawk. They were coming from every corner, every direction, some off the training fields, others from their leisure. All armed, all with the keen-eyed readiness of the most superb fighting force in all of England, renowned even above the army of Alfred himself. Men bloodied in battle, spoken of as legends, whispered to have followed their lord into the very maw of hell. Men who would die for him without hesitation but who were far more likely to kill without a second thought.

“You know damn well I cannot flog you!” Udell protested. “I would not live to take two steps!”

Hawk did not bother to deny it. Indeed, the notion amused him. Cheerfully, as though offering a friendly suggestion, he said, “We could try single combat. If I fall to you, my men are honor bound not to take vengeance.”

Udell's mouth twisted convulsively. Single combat against the Hawk. There were men who had done that. Of course, none of them happened to be alive. “Are you challenging me?” the Mercian demanded, and his voice broke on the brittle edge of fear.

Hawk's smile deepened. Seeing it, Krysta shivered and even Alfred paled slightly. The Lord of Essex, vanquisher of the Danes, champion of his people, the most feared warrior in all of Britain, glanced around at the watching lords and ladies who had thought to rise to ever greater power on the ambitions of the man who now stood before him cringing in the face of certain death. Slowly, he returned his attention to Udell. In a voice that carried to the far reaches of the circle, he said, “Not yet.”

The words still reverberated on the air when the Mercians dispersed. They went swiftly, the ladies tripping over their gowns and the lords elbowing them out of the way in their haste to be gone. Udell went too, but not without difficulty. Esa gripped his arm, struggling to hold him back. In the rush to be away, her coif had been knocked to one side and there was a rip in the sleeve of her under tunic.

“He has insulted you!” she cried out. “And
she
has done even worse! You cannot let them go unpunished!”

“What would you have me do?” her brother demanded. He spared one more look at Hawk and scowled at Esa. “Die? Would that satisfy you, you greedy, grasping harridan?”

At her outraged shriek, Udell raised his hand and cuffed her so hard that she fell back into a pile of offal deposited by the horses. He went on without another look, disappearing around a corner of the stable. Krysta took a
step toward the filthy, stunned woman only to be stopped by Hawk, who simply lifted her off the ground so that her feet moved to no effect.

“If you would excuse us, my lord,” Hawk said courteously, “we have troubled you long enough.”

Alfred worked hard to confine a grin but failed entirely. He laughed outright when Hawk tossed a shocked and protesting Krysta over his shoulder. Her objections were drowned out by Hawk's own men joining in the relieved merriment. Guffaws and helpful suggestions to their lord trailed off behind them as Hawk strode back to the royal residence.

“Put me down!” Krysta demanded before they had passed through the double doors to the great hall.

Hawk ignored her and kept right on going. Passing startled servants, surprised priests, amused lords, and, it seemed to Krysta, most of the population of Winchester, he stopped finally at the entrance to his own quarters, shoved the door open with his foot, and walked into the chamber. Without pause, he went straight to the bed and dumped her on it. She came up quickly on her elbows in time to see him stride back to the door and drop the heavy wooden bar across it. Assured they would not be interrupted, Hawk returned his attention to his wayward betrothed.

Standing beside the bed, he began removing his boots. Half bent over, tugging them off, he said matter-of-factly, “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever known.”

Krysta looked at him cautiously. He didn't sound angry and he certainly didn't look it but she knew him far too well to be misled by that. Udell had walked the keen edge of death only a short time before because of Hawk's concealed rage. That it was so little in evidence meant nothing.

“What are you doing?”

He looked up at her, as though surprised she had to ask. “Taking my boots off.”

“W-why?” She wasn't nervous, absolutely not. Nor did she feel the deep thrumming of desire stirring within her. She was merely curious, that was all.

“Because,” Hawk said as he straightened and un-clinched the sword belt around his waist, “they're heavy and I wouldn't want you getting walloped at a crucial moment.”

If her mouth continued to open and close like that, she would be mistaken for a fish. This was really carrying matter-of-factness too far. If he thought she was just going to lie there and accept what he intended after almost four days of scarcely a word between them, not to mention everything that
was
hanging between them, then he—

—Had been willing to be whipped in her place.

What possible chance did she have to resist such tender valor? The man had absolutely no sense of fairness at all. But, oh, lord, he surely did have a beautiful chest, all rippling muscle and burnished skin, and her hands just begged to be run over it. Propping herself up a little higher, Krysta tossed her hair out of the way—no sense obstructing her view—and said, “Do you understand I'm only doing this because I want to have beautiful memories of the time we had together?”

About to strip off his breeches, he stopped and stared at her. “When you're in the abbey, bent over your parchments, all hunch-shouldered and bleary-eyed?”

“Don't joke. You'll be an old man then, too.” It was impossible to imagine him old. He would always be young to her no matter how many years passed.

He pulled off the breeches, tossed them aside, and joined her on the bed. Catching glistening strands of her hair around his fingers, he said, “According to Thorgold, I'll still be buying you hair ribbons. Now do you honestly believe that stubborn old troll is wrong?”

His hands were on her breasts, caressing them through the fine linen of her gown. His bare, heavily muscled thigh was pushing between hers. His mouth was hot along her throat. So very hot … as though she were about to go up in flames at any moment. Yet she shoved her hands against his shoulders and forced enough space between them so that she could look at him.

“What did you call Thorgold?”

Reluctantly, he gave up sweetly tormenting the hollow at the base of her throat and said, “A stubborn old troll. Would you describe him differently?”

Her heart sputtered, started again at double speed. “You think Thorgold is a troll?”

Hawk shrugged those massive shoulders she was unconsciously stroking. “He disappeared on me just the other morning. One minute we were talking and the next he was gone. Who does that kind of thing?”

“Trolls … ?”

“I'm no expert but it seems to fit. Before he went he told me my mind has wings I have yet to unfurl.”

“Thorgold is a poet.”

“So it seems. Notice I'm not asking about Raven. Best I leave that alone, I think. Is it my imagination or did Udell have a pecked look to him?”

Krysta sighed deeply and felt the tight coil of sorrow that had existed within her these many days loosen a notch. “Udell and I had an … encounter four days past. Somehow it must have disturbed the ravens and they attacked him.”

To her regret, he gave off caressing her and sat up. The tender, playful lover yielded to the outraged lord. “You will tell me what happened.”

Because she always tried to obey him—surely no one thought it her fault that it seldom worked out—Krysta did as she was told. She kept the telling very short. When she finished, she hoped they would get back to the
business at hand. Hawk had other ideas. He rose from the bed and reached for his tunic.

“I'm going to kill him now.”

“Wait! What? You aren't!”

“I'll be back in no time. Don't go anywhere.”

“No!” Krysta hurled herself at him, grabbing the tunic he had half on and ripping it from his hands. “What are you talking about? Killing Udell? Are you mad? If he dies, Mercia will rebel.”

“You have it the wrong way around. If he lives, Mercia will rebel.”

He knew. What she had merely feared and wanted to believe was deluded bragging was real. Horror clawed at her but with it came swift hope. Grace of God, Hawk knew, which meant Alfred must know as well.

“Why do you think I was summoned to Winchester?”

She stared at him in shock. “Because of Udell?”

“Do you think Alfred has united a splintered kingdom, ignited the light of learning where there was only darkness, and become the hope of his people for generations to come without having a keen eye for everything that goes on around him?”

“But then … something must be done.”

“Yes, which is why—”

He was going to kill Udell. If not right then, sometime very soon. He had known that when he stood amidst the Mercians and offered him twice his wergild, money to buy an army and march against a throne, knowing Udell would never live to collect it. When he had been willing to be flogged, knowing the hand that wielded the whip would soon be in the grave.

“Not now.” Krysta spoke emphatically but she didn't count on words alone. She hurled his tunic into a far corner of the room and promptly discarded her torn gown, shimmying it right up over her hips and breasts, freeing the glorious mass of her hair and tossing the garment
somewhere over her head. As naked as he, she faced him proudly. “You aren't upset about Thorgold?”

He ran his eyes over her with frank pleasure. “No, it's Udell I'm going to kill.”

“I understand that. But if you wanted to shed blood in the house of the king, he would be dead already.”

The corners of his mouth were twitching. “You're infuriating to be sure but you have a good head on your shoulders.”

Very clearly, because she had to do this while she had the courage, she said, “I am part of your world and part of something more. All my life I have fought against it. When I came here, I feared only sorrow lay ahead. Was I wrong to do so?”

Her heart was beating so hard she thought it must surely burst. She was terrified to speak so frankly, terrified of how he would respond, terrified of being terrified as though she would never be anything but if he should turn from her and leave her bereft in the cold.